It was a sunny day here, and I strolled down dusty Main Street. Past the Bourbon Barrel Saloon, past Dr. Bean's Drug Store, past the Fivemile Saloon.

And there he was. Waiting, his sawed-off 10 gauge in hand. I could smell the whiskey on him from where I was. Dirty he was also; he hadn't has his annual bath for a couple of years.

I cranked a round into my Winchester and shouted his name. He turned, a growl on his lips. The Greener came up and it was like looking down two three-foot sewer pipes. Then it roared and he was, briefly, obscured by the smoke.

I wasn't hit, and I raised the Winchester. My first shot spun the shotgun out of his hand and the second tore the buttons off his suspenders.

His pants fell around his feet as he stood there, holding his wrist.

I levered in another round. The 92 was still aimed dead at him and he fell to his knees, pleading for his scummy life. He looked ridiculous kneeling there in the middle of the street, each knee planted squarely in the middle of the leavings of a passing horse, begging and sobbing like a kid whose favorite toy was broken.

I lowered the rifle and he went for his Colt. Before he could get a shot off I has hip-shot and the equalizer flew from his hand. Now was the time for killing.

I didn't. I walked over and said, "Next time, don't try a shotgun at 300 yards. You couldn't hit the side of a barn from the inside anyway" and kicked the scattergun across the street and into a tub of cement mixture.

And I left him there, his six-shooter crammed up his...no, can't say that in a Western. I just took his guns away.

Soooo.. you just used that as an excuse not to go to The Olde Country with the Missus. You sly old dog, you. You just wanted to hand around Legion with yer drinkin buddies an shoot cowboys n such. You'd better hope Mom don't find out!

Horatio - didn't I know him well? A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Yes, I'm sure I knew him.

And I'm home again. Seven days makes a week (not weak!), but when that week comprises two distinct trips (a wedding in Boston and hanging out in New York City) it feels (thankfully) much longer. And considering the circumstances in which I find myself here in Texas-land, that is a very good thing. Three days to go before I head back to the salt mines.

SOre mothers are a universal; in large, thee is nothing the younger set can do to assuage the soreness of mothers. Their dreams and visions for their young will never match up to the grinding, chaotic mishmash of temporal reality, and hence, their visions will never be quite fulfilled. Our sympathies are with the young who must balance two opposed and irreconcilable forces.

Horatio's mother is a sore subject with him. She abandoned him before he was born, which is difficult to do at any time. He believes that she was either a femme du pave or an innocent young girl seduced by a deceiving country squire or perhaps both. Anyway, St. Dismas Home And Workshop For Abandoned Children raised him and saw to his education. The closest thing he ever had to a "real" mother was the Overseer of his ward and they weren't all that close except when he was being caned or otherwise disciplined. Whatever he received from his mother in the way of genetics, etc. probably came from his father, whoever that was.

Oh what a sibling is our Amos! Never once did he ever shame us By being a private dick, a shamus, Or wandering blameless, nameless, aimless Amidst the towering Himalayas! He is no scampering ignoramus Trying to serve a writ of mandamus As notorious, enormous fusses Settles o'er this precocious chorus, Wide as Texas, flat as Kansas. Nay! For sooth our sibling, good old Amos, (Never showing any weakness) Will be as famous as Nostradamus -- Probably before this coming Christmas!

A toast to sibling Rapparree With pen and keyboard makes he free Atop the highest posting tree Made (of the k's) full 53 And (of the hundreds), another three! Say, what a mensch is Rapparree To write post fifty-three and three! So let us now all drink to he!

Right! Mom has a bucket of ice cold spring water awaiting your poor, tired, burning feet and it's got that nice green scum on it. AND there's a tub of nice, warm, relaxing water that's only been used by gnu, Amos, Li'l Hawk, Ebbie, and a couple of guys who were passing by so it's still good.

Let me be the first to welcome you back! Everything's just as you left it, except for the bullet holes and the water damage where Amos forgot to turn off the third floor bath water and the scorch marks on the ceiling and the poison ivy that accidentally got rubbed into the carpet and the places where the dogs marked their territory after the cats did so and that place in the roof where the rocket with the satellite busted through and the basement where gnu's still blew up and the tire marks in the lawn from the ambulance and the medevac helicopter and where Ebbie carved her initials in that really old mahogany sideboard thing you like and the fridge and freezer stopped after the power was off for a week when it was so hot outside but we opened the doors so the odors could escape. Oh, did I mention the rats? The rats are all gone now and that's why there are bullet holes.

MOM, I'm in after a lovely day of running around and eating good food and visiting with old friends. Better have the footbath ready for a bucket of hot water for when I get back home - my feet are going to need a soak!

Is this the book by Kendall Morse, who lives in Maine and was in the Coast Guard and worked as a Game Warden and is married to Jacqui and plays and sings and tells stories and who once had a television show on Maine PBS and who wrote an earlier book called "Tales Told In The Kitchen"? That Kendall Morse?

Back from a long bout of high-intensity heavy-duty round-the-clock malingering. I swan I dunnno how long I can keep this up!

What a grand trip it has been.

Kendall's book has a fine tale in it of a man who used a privy and it was a two holer--his friend was using the second one. When he stood up, all the loose change in his pocket slipped out of his jeans and fell into the hole. He couldn't reach it. But ya know how tight Mainers can be with a quarter5, so after a while he proceeded to disrobe down to the buck-naked state. Then he took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and threw it into the hole. His friend thought he'd gone crazy. "Well," he explained, "You don't think I'm going in there for pocket change, do ya?"

Agggghhhhh! Constantly! Emails from buyers in Kijiji that ask, "Is this still available?" Yes it is you dumb fuck! I don't post shit for sale that isn't for sale. Jesus H. Christ what is wrong with these morons?

BTW, what does the "H." stand for? I forgot to ask Dad before he died.

Done my duty today. Voted at Elections Canada. Pissed off that my sealed ballot then went in an envelope that I had to sign but, hopefully, it will be counted. It also pissed me off that the form I had to fill out required denoting my sex. It had two options... male or female. I wanted one that said "Please". The lass told me they have forms that include "Other" if anyone asks. How fucking odd... you gotta REQUEST one of those forms???? She actually reached over and Xed the "Male" box and said, "Last time you checked." I was very pissed off.

Can I donate? I hate to think of your Council meeting in a privy. The smell must be terrible and if it's like a number of privies I know the door is going to fall off one of these days. Wasps and black widow spiders have been known to build their nests in privies and can give the users a nasty surprise. I've know a couple of guys who were relaxing in the privy with a Sears catalog when a six or eight legged critter took objection and injected their dangling bits with a load of something that caused an unwanted swelling and a trip to the hospital. Then a couple weeks later the skin started sloughing off and the parts were raw and tender as new skin started growing. This caused Bob (not his real name) a problem when his date started getting frisky one Saturday night; poor girl was traumatized when Bob screamed, leaped out of the car, and started running around holding his private parts (which is what she wanted to do); she entered a cloistered convent the next day and spent the rest of her life doing penance. Bob got to like pain and enlisted in the Marines. So if I can send, say, ten bucks, to help your council out just let me know. Even a room at the Hot Sheets Motel is usually better than meeting in a privy.

I found a fleece jacket, without logo, for about USD 25.00. On sale, of course. And I don't pay for stuff with a logo unless it's nonprofit like a museum, or if I really, really want it (like my Moose Drool cap). If some company wants me to advertise for them as a walking billboard they can provide the stuff for free and pay me to wear it.

Pricey depends upon what you want/need. I needed a jacket and I probably could have found one a little cheaper somewhere else. But I figure that you get what you pay for.

Bass Pro shops is about the same prices as Cabelas.

I'm not saying that Missoula, Montana is outdoorsy, but there's also a Bob Ward's Sporting Goods, Sports Authority, God knows how many fishing tackle shops, I gave up counting the hunting stores, and a couple of mountaineering places. Also boating and kayaks and bicycles and hang gliders and I don't know what all. You can hardly move a block without breathing some sort of fresh,outdoorsy air!

Many here are finding that Kabelaws has higher prices than the local guys. Kabelaws is about 2 km from me but I haven't been there yet. Bass Pro opens their new store this week so I might go to Kabelaws on the day that BP opens fer a gander.